Just Another Girl
by DanniFielding
Summary: Sherlock is home and John is angry. Angry at his best friend for lying, and even angrier at Faye for not letting him know. With a wedding coming and some big changes, what will happen when Faye realises John doesn't need her anymore? Sequel to 'Can't Wait 'Til Tomorrow'. Sherlock/OC
1. The Storm

_Hey everyone! Did you miss me? :P_

 _This won't make any sense unless you've read the first two stories, which are on my profile. Go check them out then head back here! And be prepared for erratic posting, because that's what I'm known for :D_

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If he hadn't been so angry, John might have actually been happy. Sherlock was alive. After all these years, his best friend, the father of the baby girl he'd helped to raise, was back and alive and their wishes had been granted. Why wouldn't be happy?

Because he was fucking _furious!_ Sherlock had been alive all this time and he'd let _none_ of them know! He'd lied to them, let them mourn, let them believe they'd lost someone so important in their lives and then had the _gall_ to complain about his bloody moustache.

"I'm going to kill him!" he raged, pacing forwards and backwards on the well-worn carpet of 221B's living room. "I'm going to strangle him!"

"John, calm down," Mary replied calmly.

"Calm down?!" he shouted in reply. "He-He thinks he can just _waltz_ back in here with no warning, no word, and expect everything to just be okay? It's not okay!"

"Of course it's not okay," Mary replied, keeping calm. "But you'll wake up Bella."

The mention of the man's daughter reminded him of the third occupant in the room. Faye, Sherlock's girlfriend, the mother of his child, who hadn't moved since he'd told her that he had been alive all along. In fact, now that his attention had focused in more on his friend, he started to realise just how still she was. He took a step closer, wondering for the first time if maybe just blurting it out had been the best idea.

"Faye?" he asked and she jumped, as if startled. John was looking at her in concern, but her mind was reeling too much to be able to reply. Her mouth moved up and down a couple of times before she turned from him, heading to the stairs that had once led up to John's room, and where her daughter now slept.

"I'm going to check on Bella," she rambled, brushing him aside as she all but ran up the stairs. There was no chance that John had actually woken up her, but Faye still looked into the crib, making sure she was fast asleep, meerkat by her head.

Sherlock had told John he was alive?! He could have, at least, given her a heads up about it, surely?! The last thing she'd expected John to tell her that night had been that her husband was back from the dead. She'd expected Mary to have said yes to his proposal and they'd be around to celebrate. Or, at least, a text to let her know everything had gone without a hitch. Not that Sherlock had gate-crashed their date!

His timing had always been impeccable.

She crossed her arms on the top of the crib, leaning her head on them as she squeezed her eyes shut. What was she going to do? Did she tell John she'd known all along? Did she act innocent? It didn't seem like Sherlock had dropped her in it, which was something, she supposed. Maybe he was giving her the chance to lie her way out of it. Start crying, chuck them out of the flat, demand to know where he was. Act as hurt and as angry as John was right now.

Trouble was that she'd already been through those emotions. They'd been both draining and the making of her. The anger brought on by him appearing that night in the living room had forced her to retaliate by becoming a mother, and a good one at that. Sure she still struggled, but those days were becoming few and far between now that Bella wasn't so small and completely helpless. She was a troublesome toddler and Faye was enjoying her a lot more because of it.

But she couldn't fake it, she knew she couldn't. No one could fake being that hurt, could they? And she would be, she'd been _so_ hurt knowing what he'd let them all go through. It was still so hard for her.

The door opened but she couldn't look up, couldn't stand the thought of looking at John's guilty face – and he would feel guilty for breaking it to her in such a terrible way. He didn't deserve that, he'd not done anything wrong, but he still walked over to her side.

"Sorry," he told her, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I probably could have broken that better." Faye shook her head in her arms before lifting it up, turning on the spot and leaning against the crib. But she couldn't find the words to reply to him, so she kept silent as Mary appeared in the doorway.

"I just- How can he be alive?" John continued. "We buried him. We were there. He was put in the ground and we both begged him to come back. I don't understand how he could be standing there."

Faye didn't reply again, because these were all thoughts she'd had. Not just the moral 'how could he lie to me?', but other thoughts, like how he managed to actually pull it off. There had been a body, she'd seen it fall. John had checked him over. They'd buried him in the ground. Did that mean there was someone else's body in that grave?

She'd never really managed to pull a proper answer from Sherlock about exactly how he had pulled it off, but she wasn't sure she wanted to know how he was successful in lying to them. Who would want to know how they were taken in so completely by someone who was supposed to love them? Even after all this time it still hurt her, it still made her so angry.

"You knew." Faye and John turned to look at Mary at the same time. She was staring at Faye, not looking like she was accusing her of anything, but like she'd suddenly just come to that conclusion.

"What?" John asked, a laugh in his voice because it was ludicrous. Of course she hadn't known. He'd watched her grieved, he'd lived with her throughout her pregnancy, right up to and passed Bella's first Christmas. He'd watched he go from strength to strength, but only after being at the lowest of lows.

And above all else, she was his friend. His closest friend, even above Mary. Just like he had done, if she had found out Sherlock was alive, then she would have come straight to him. He turned to his best friend – because that _definitely_ wasn't Sherlock anymore – to look for her protest. The proof that Mary had just misread the situation, because that's what it had to be, right?

But Faye didn't protest. She just looked up at him with big, guilty eyes and for the second time that evening it felt like he'd been smacked straight in the chest. She _knew_. She had known that Sherlock was alive and she hadn't said a word.

He opened his mouth to rant and rave at her, at everyone. Was this just something _he_ didn't know? How could she keep this from him?!

But the little girl asleep behind them helped him hold his anger in check enough from him to push past both women and storm downstairs into the living room. He didn't know what he wanted to do at that point, except that he had to leave. He had no idea where he wanted to go, but it was somewhere other than 221 bloody B!

"John, wait!" Faye called after him and he paused, turning around and she froze in slight fear. John was very rarely angry, but he looked like he never wanted to see her again. He rocked forward like he was going to storm towards her, then stopped, his whole body tense.

He went over every question he wanted to ask her. Demand answers to why he was kept in the dark while, apparently, everyone on the _planet_ knew about it but him! Was everyone just laughing at him? Poor John, who didn't know that one of his two best friends were alive?

"How long?" was what he settled on, the look that he was giving her saying that she he wouldn't accept no answer.

"Since the night you met Mary," she replied softly. He blinked for a moment before laughing harshly.

"That's why you suddenly became such a good mother!" he raged, arms flying out. "Because you knew he was _fucking_ alive!"

She couldn't deny it, the tears in her eyes told him that she wasn't going to deny it either. Her silence just angered him further, because she was supposed to be his friend, "After everything I have done for you," he started quietly, shaking, "after _everything_ , was I not worth telling?"

"No, that's not it!" she quickly insisted, taking a step forward, like she wanted to beg for his forgiveness. "I wanted to tell you, I really did…"

"Then why didn't you?!" he screamed, a moment later the sound of crying floating in from upstairs. They both glanced up, but Mary seemed to be dealing with it. Faye looked back at John, seeing the hurt on his face.

"He said you were in danger," she explained. "And that the less people who knew, the safer he would be. I had to protect my husband, John."

"Your-" he stuttered out. "Your husband?!"

She nodded slowly, berating herself for letting that slip when he was already so angry at them both. "We got married after I got kidnapped."

"Oh, great!" he ranted. "Yet another thing you've kept from me." He looked ready to throttle her, pacing backwards and forwards before pointing at her. "The first thing, _the first thing_ , I thought of when he appeared was telling you. I would _never_ have kept this from you for so long!"

"I know," she replied. "I wanted to tell you…"

"Then why didn't you?" he demanded.

"Because he doesn't deserve you!" she shouted in reply, her own anger and pain coming out in her words and tone. In the same was he pointed at her, she pointed at him, with force behind the violent gesture. "I knew you'd forgive him, and he doesn't deserve it!" she snapped. "He doesn't deserve anyone's forgiveness and he _doesn't_ deserve you as a friend."

"Don't worry, I'm never going to forgive him," John swore, "And I'm never going to forgive you." Faye watched him storm out, slamming the front door shut as he did. The tears in Faye's eyes started to fall as she started crying. Her hand ran through her hair, grasping tightly as she tried to work out what to do. She _knew_ John would be angry at her, but having to face that was something completely different. He truly was one of her best friends, only beaten by Mycroft. She didn't want his anger, but she didn't expect anything else. She couldn't chase after him because he'd just be angry and that wouldn't get her anywhere, so why was that all she wanted to do?

Mary slowly came down the stairs with a whining Bella, sensing that the fight was over. "You're married?" she asked. Unlike John she didn't particularly sound angry, just curious. Faye nodded.

"Me, Sherlock and Mycroft in at Mycroft's house," she replied. "Sherlock was worried about me, I thought he was going to die every other moment. It was horrible, but we did it anyway." She reached out and Mary handed her the little girl. "Make sure your wedding is better than that."

"That all depends on him _actually_ asking me," Mary grumbled and the two shared a soft giggle together. "I'm not happy that this was kept from him," Mary told her. "But I understand why you did. If keeping John safe meant you believing he was dead, then you'd never know." She offered the other woman a soft smile, one that Faye returned gratefully. "And you're right, he's going to forgive him."

"I haven't forgiven him," Faye admitted. "I mean, how dare he do this to us? He doesn't deserve our forgiveness, not yet."

Mary pulled both Faye and Bella in for a hug. "He'll come around soon," Mary offered as comfort. "He's never going to be able to stay away from this cutie." She placed a kiss on Bella's head.

"Let me know how he's doing?" Faye replied, trying to make it sound like an order but it came out more like a desperate question.

"Of course," Mary said as she headed out of the door after her almost-fiancé. "Sherlock told him he didn't like the moustache," she offered.

"Oh!" Faye replied, sounding rather excited. "Let me know when he saves it off."

"Will do!" Mary called over her shoulder and Faye giggled. The door shut downstairs and she turned to her daughter, who she was bouncing in her arms. "Let's see how your father tries to talk his way out of this, eh?" she asked the little girl.

"Boring!" she grumbled and Faye nodded.

"Yep, that's probably exactly what he'll say," she murmured before heading back upstairs to put her back to bed.


	2. Welcome Home

_Hey everyone! I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome! I'm so glad you're all here. If you like Faye, feel free to check out the rest of my stories :)_

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Sherlock had expected a warmer welcome back from John than he had from Mary; after all, he and John hadn't ever been lovers nor did they have a child together. Of course John was going to be upset, but he had expected him to be less violent than he had been. His jaw was sore, but no matter. John would come around. He always did. He needed Sherlock just like Sherlock needed him. More so, in fact. Sherlock knew how reliant John was on him.

After calming down Mrs Hudson, who had given him a good scolding, he'd headed straight up to Mary and Bella. He knew that his daughter would have been in bed but Mary should have been still awake, watching those incessant reruns she always seemed to like to waste her time on.

There was no noise coming from the flat when he opened the door. The television was off, which was a little strange. Anything out of the ordinary always put him on edge, especially when it came to the safe spaces in his life. He had immediate flashbacks of walking into the living room and finding Faye strapped to a chair, lightly beaten, with an arrogant American man who would decide to take a tumble out of the window.

Luckily that was not the sight he walked in on. Mary was stood by the window, looking out onto the dark street outside. "I must have just missed you," she stated. "Although from Mrs Hudson's scream it was probably for the best."

"I felt it best to get it out of the way," he explained. "Saves having to deal with a large, more dramatic fallout."

"Yes, because her scream was very underwhelming," Mary retorted with a snarky bite.

She wouldn't turn around to look at him, making Sherlock feel rather worried. He'd expected John to be a little hostile, but Mary was very rarely less than ecstatic to see him. Her back was straight, one hand on the window frame and the other by her side in a fist. Her voice didn't sound particularly angry but he knew better. "I believe I may have returned a little late," he stated. "John's already been here."

"Yes, he has," Faye replied shortly. "Apparently you just turned up, out of the blue. He was in such a state."

"Yes, well, I thought it…"

She turned around and he saw the tracks on her cheeks. She had been crying. "No, you didn't, that's the problem," she exclaimed. "You don't think. You analyse, and you deduce, and you make snarky comments about it but you never actually just stop and _think!_ "

"I'm sure that after a night's sleep to calm himself down John will begin to think reasonably about everything," he told her. "Mary said that she would talk to him for me."

"Of course she would," she replied. "Mary's amazing. She'll talk him into forgiving you no problem. I give it a week, two tops."

His eyes narrowed slightly. He had never been the best at reading anyone's emotions, usually because he just didn't care. If it got in the way of him solving a puzzle, or a crime, or anything really, he could toss it aside with relative ease. With Mary, though, he did actively try and work out what was wrong, even if he didn't understand it. The last couple of years had undone some of the strides he had made in that regard and, it seemed, he really didn't understand why she was still upset.

"I thought you wanted this," he said. "You've wanted to let John in on the secret from the beginning."

"What I wanted was for us to sit him down and explain it to him gently," she snapped back. "I wanted, at the very least, to be given a _little_ bit of warning!"

"I think he would have as well," Sherlock quipped. "You never said just how monstrous his moustache is…"

"He knows, Sherlock!" she interrupted. "He knows that I knew!"

He frowned. "That's not possible," he stated. "I made sure not to mention your involvement. He shouldn't have been able to deduce that you knew."

Faye didn't reply straight away. She kept her arms crossed as she stared at him. "Well, that's because it was suddenly sprung on me and I couldn't prepare!" she replied. "Mary worked it out pretty quickly!" Sherlock looked rather exasperated. "What do you expect from me, Sherlock?" she exclaimed. "I'm not the most covert of people on the planet! I wasn't expecting my evening to be suddenly interrupted with my no-longer-dead husband's sudden reappearance! And now he's going to hate me forever!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. This isn't school," he said sharply. "John's going to stew for a few days and then he'll forgive us. We're too ingrained in his life. He didn't want me dead."

She nodded. "That's the point," she snapped. "He wanted you alive and I kept that from him. He's going to forgive you, but he's not going to forgive me! This is why I wanted time to prepare! He's never going to forgive me!"

Her voice cracked and he realised she was crying again. Every time she cried in front of him, no matter what the reason, his mind instantly flashed back to just before he'd faked his death. He could see Moriarty driving away in the taxi and Faye and John appearing from around the corner. He could see the tears in her eyes and then he would be almost overwhelmed by the panic that had come from the moment, and then the entire experience. He'd remember the realisation that he was going to have to fake his death. He remembered the horror at the realisation that Moriarty was close to winning as his body fell to the ground, gun still in hand. He remembered the pain at realising that he'd never be able to tell Mary he was really alive. That he might not have come home again.

He hated that feeling. He still wasn't, even after all of the success of the endeavour, convinced that it was the best idea. He hadn't realised at the time just how hard it was going to be to be away from her. He'd never thought he'd be so co-dependant on other humans but both she and John were so distinctly missing out of his life that he'd not been able to stay away.

And now she was crying. Again. And he felt all those emotions all over again.

He stormed over, pulling her close and wrapping her up. He held her tightly because, suddenly, he realised that he didn't have to stay away. There was no one to keep her safe from. Mary was safe. He'd done his job.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sorry. Don't cry, please. I'm sorry."

Faye, too, remembered the time well. She remembered the sleepless nights wondering if she'd done something wrong. She remembered the nightmares where he jumped off the building and she'd have to watch it again and again. She remembered him pushing her away. She remembered wondering how they were ever going to get the world to realise Moriarty's true identity then the crushing devastation at the fact that they'd never going to be able to get that far.

She remembered the words he said the night he'd run off from John and her. She remembered how scared he'd been, how tightly he'd held her and she'd spent so many times wondering if she had missed something crucial that might have saved his life.

The surprise of his small beg startled her slightly. "I-I know," she said softly. "Just-You can't just drop me in it, Sherlock. You _know_ I'm not mentally capable of that shit."

His hand was cradling the back of her head, keeping her close and she realised that this wasn't anything to do with her being mad at all. The way he was holding her tightly, just like on that street two years ago, was because he was frightened of what was to come next. He'd been unsure, unable to find a way out that was favourable. He was holding her tightly because he was afraid he was going to have to let her go.

"Sherlock," she said softly. He didn't let her go. "Hey, Sherlock, just… I need…" She forcefully pulled back until she could meet his gaze. No matter how long she knew him, how long she'd loved him, she'd never been able to look into those brilliantly bright eyes and not freeze for just a moment. "You know it's okay now, don't you?" she asked. "You being back home means that it's over."

"It's never going to be over, not really," he said in a matter-of-fact manner. "There's always going to be someone who I rub up the wrong way. I'm notoriously annoying, especially to the criminal classes."

She let him rant for a moment before shaking her head, letting out a little laugh. "Well, I can't change popular option," she agreed. "But it is over."

He blinked, surprised not only by her complete denial of his logical point, but also by how much the words actually reassured him somewhat. "Is it?" he drawled.

She nodded. Then, much like always, she leant up and pressed her lips against his. She had been the one who would talk. Whenever the 'feeling' portion of any deep conversation became too much, Sherlock fell back onto the physical because it was so much easier to control. And she, being one constant mess in her own head that she hoped she hadn't past down to her daughter, was very happy not to live in it for a little while.

Bella started crying again, breaking their kiss and the moment. Mary glanced over at the stairs with a sigh. "She's not settled since John was here," she explained. "I think she's going to be up all night." She moved away from Sherlock. "Just give me a minute."

"I'll do it."

She paused mid-step, looking back at him completely bewildered. She'd become so used to dealing with Bella on her own that she hadn't even considered Sherlock could help. She smiled softly. "Are you sure?" she asked. "She's going to be really fussy."

"I'm sure I can soothe my daughter just fine," he retorted, walking past her and up the stairs. "It's simple. Give her the meerkat. She's really quite easy to settle."

Faye pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. "If you say so," she called after him. "Give me a shout if you need any help!"

She watched him disappear into the bedroom, feeling slightly calmer than she had all evening. She knew that John was going to forgive Sherlock, because _he_ was the one who had come back from the dead, not her. She knew that, ultimately, the relief of his best friend being alive would override any of the anger he felt.

But she also knew that her betrayal ran deeper. She knew all that he'd given her and she'd repaid him, in his mind, by keeping him in the dark to the most important piece of information she could have held onto. She'd watched him grieve, she'd been there when he'd found it incredibly difficult. She'd seen him read horrid articles and drive away reporters and after all that she'd not told him that Sherlock was alive. She'd not relieved that pain. She'd let him hurt and pretended that she hurt too.

But, for now, she continued to smile to herself, waiting for the inevitable call from Sherlock for her to come and help. She was going to have to get used to Bella's father being home. She wasn't under any illusion that Sherlock was suddenly going to become a doting father, who played with brightly coloured blocks and spoke baby speak to try and get her to talk. She knew that he'd have his own, unique, way of showing his affection and she was going to continue in the more 'traditional' role that she had always been in.

But it was nice to know that she had someone to share that with. Even if he was a flight risk, and obsessive, and more than a little blunt at times.

The door to Bella's bedroom flew open and Sherlock rushed downstairs, Bella in arms. "She's much too warm," he told Faye seriously. "She's got a fever. We should take her to the hospital. I'll call Molly."

Faye tried not to laugh. She held her arms out of the screaming child. "One; Molly works in the morgue, she's not a paediatrician. Two; she doesn't have a fever. She's a little girl in the middle of a tantrum. She gets warm. When she calms down," she began bouncing her on her hip, "which she will do eventually, she'll cool down again." She looked at Bella, still smiling. "She just misses Uncle John, don't you?" she cooed. "You love him very much."

Bella didn't reply, just continued to scream. "Does she always scream to such a degree when John's been here?" he asked curiously.

"Only when he's not here anymore," Faye explained. "She thinks it'll bring him back. She would have been fine if she'd not heard him shouting because she realised he was in the flat and not paying attention to her." She placed a kiss on Bella's forehead. She gave Bella a quick pat to check her nappy. "Come on. I'll change her and you can choose a story to read her."

She knew Sherlock would follow her upstairs and the thought made her heart skip a beat. Sherlock was finally back from the dead.

Sherlock was home.


End file.
